


water under the bridge

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Kitayama walks in on Fujigaya in the shower.





	water under the bridge

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

While Kitayama never means to walk in on other people in the shower, it just seems to happen that way. Sometimes he _does_ mean it, like when he rooms with Tamamori and Miyata, but that doesn’t count because they’re already in the shower together anyway.

Every single time, though, the other person is usually just taking a shower. Thinking back on it now, Kitayama figures he was just lucky that he never caught anyone in an incriminating position before now, because the shower is the prime location for that kind of activity. Especially on tour, since it’s the only place anyone gets any privacy and there’s no mess afterward.

But why, oh why did it have to be Fujigaya?

Kitayama stands frozen in the middle of Yokoo’s bathroom, unable to move. He’d come here for _Scrubbing Bubbles_ —why bother buying some when Yokoo has it in bulk?—and thought nothing about a running shower other than that Yokoo must be home. He’d told Kitayama to come by and help himself a couple weeks ago, but naturally Kitayama had gotten distracted and suddenly remembered while he was out just now.

Of all the times Fujigaya could have been hanging out there. It’s no secret that he often stays at Yokoo’s place when his brothers get on his nerves, or when he just wants to be alone. Apparently this time he’d wanted to be alone for a particular reason.

He doesn’t notice Kitayama at first, the water hitting the top of his head as he braces himself against the tile wall. Kitayama can see him clearly because Yokoo’s shower curtain is translucent, every drop of water running down his dark skin and plastering his hair to his face. Kitayama tries to focus on that instead of the hand wrapped around his cock, tugging quickly like he’s trying to finish fast.

A low moan snaps Kitayama back to reality and he starts to leave, but then Fujigaya throws his head back, his lips slightly parted as water streams down his face and throat. Kitayama’s so entranced that he doesn’t notice Fujigaya’s head roll to the side, eyes suddenly open and on him.

Kitayama’s heart leaps into his chest and he scrambles out of the room, ignoring the raging expletives that follow him. He should probably stop and apologize, at least grab the damn cleaner since he’d humiliated both of them for it, but all he can see behind his eyes is Fujigaya’s deer-in-headlights look just before he had turned and hauled ass.

He makes it as far as the front door before pausing with one foot in a shoe. He’s an adult, technically. There is no reason why he should be running away from Fujigaya of all people. If it was anyone else, he could get away with waiting a few days and letting it blow over, but Fujigaya’s filming a drama with him and they’re already testy enough with each other on set. He doesn’t have anything against the guy personally, but he sees him more often than not. And now he’s seen more of him than he ever wanted to.

He’s still standing there arguing with himself when Fujigaya storms out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his entire body like a girl and still completely wet, dripping on Yokoo’s carpet. “What the _fuck_ , Kitayama?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Kitayama says, staring at the growing pool of water on the floor. “I figured it would be Watta since, you know, this is his apartment and all.”

Fujigaya huffs. “You could, I don’t know, _knock on the fucking door_.”

“I said I’m sorry and that’s all I can do,” Kitayama mutters. “Trust me, I want to take it back as much as you do.”

“Oh, there’s something you can do.”

Kitayama looks up, cringing a little at Fujigaya’s water-beaded face. “What?”

“Even the score,” Fujigaya says simply. “Do something embarrassing to make it up to me.”

“Like what?” Kitayama asks skeptically. “I doubt you want to watch me in the shower.”

“Nobody wants to watch you in the shower,” Fujigaya replies, smirking a little. “As proven when I trumped your fat ass on Kisumai Busaiku.”

“Whatever,” Kitayama says. “Tell me what you want me to do so I can do it and not have to look at your face for another twelve hours or so.”

“Not now.” Fujigaya flashes a cocky grin. “Some other time, when you least expect it.”

“Fine,” Kitayama agrees. “Nothing in public, though, or in front of the other members. Just you and me, whatever it is.”

“Fine.” Fujigaya wraps his towel tighter around his chest and turns on his heel, their conversation clearly over.

Kitayama can’t help himself. “Enjoy your left hand!” he calls after him.

The bathroom door slams and Kitayama snickers the whole way down to his car. He gets all the way home before remembering he’d forgotten the damn Scrubbing Bubbles. Screw it—he’ll just have to clean his bathroom counters with a mop again.

*

“The hell is up with you and Taisuke?” Yokoo asks three days later, because Kitayama swears he’s psychic and knows the innermost thoughts of everyone in the group.

Or it could be because he’d walked right into a door by staring at the floor when Fujigaya arrived. “Nothing,” he answers quickly. “I’m just tired of looking at him.”

“Liar,” Yokoo says, and Kitayama sighs. “You two aren’t fucking, are you?”

“God, no,” Kitayama says, ignoring the flash of Fujigaya’s hand working himself in the shower that likes to pop up whenever he thinks about sex, or Fujigaya, or anything really. “There’s already enough of that in this group.”

“Right.” Yokoo shakes his head, clearly thinking of the other pairs that think nobody knows what they get up to. “Want to talk about it? Maybe I can help. I _am_ friends with both of you, as impossible as that is some days.”

“I went to your place to get the cleaning stuff and walked in on him in the shower,” Kitayama relays as quickly as he possibly can, cringing at the memory.

Yokoo blinks. “Hiromitsu, the entire _world_ has seen him in the shower. I fail to see why this warrants acting like a fourteen-year-old girl with a crush.”

“He was…doing things,” Kitayama says cryptically, his face heating up at the admission. Any other time he has no problem talking about sex, but it’s suddenly uncomfortable in regards to Fujigaya. “To himself.”

“Ooh.” Yokoo winces. “Did he get pissed?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about that,” Kitayama tells him. “I can’t get the goddamn images out of my mind. It’s horrible.”

Yokoo raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kitayama warns. “It’s not what you think. It’s traumatizing. I have PTSD or something.”

It’s very obvious that Yokoo is trying not to smile. “It’s pretty hot, isn’t it?”

“I hate you so much,” Kitayama grumbles. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Ugh, I don’t _want_ to be the only one in the group not hooked up,” Yokoo whines with a pout. “It’s _lonely_ being the seventh wheel.”

“We are _not_ hooking up,” Kitayama says, making a face at the thought. “I already see him sixteen hours out of the day. The last thing I want to do is sleep with him too.”

“At least in the literal sense,” Yokoo adds, waggling his eyebrows, and Kitayama walks away with a huff, Yokoo’s laughter following him all the way. “Maybe you should think about _that_.”

What Kitayama thinks is that he needs to get new friends.

*

It’s been so long that Kitayama thinks Fujigaya has actually forgotten about it. It’s autumn now, after Beginners! and Dream Boys have ended, and there’s no longer any animosity in Fujigaya’s eyes when they meet. Kitayama supposes that’s because holding a grudge is exhausting and Fujigaya is one of the laziest people he’s ever met in his life; either way, it’s nice to not be glared at when no one is looking.

Kitayama hasn’t forgotten about it, not at all. Working with Kisumai again means group showers after rehearsal and his only saving grace is that the younger four are too preoccupied with each other to notice how he just keeps to himself and washes quickly, which his really what people should be doing in the shower anyway. Particularly showers with other people with whom they’re not intimate.

Yokoo notices, but Yokoo refuses to get involved and tells Kitayama to handle his own business. Kitayama isn’t sure whether he’s grateful for that or not, especially with the knowing looks Yokoo sends him whenever the three of them are in the same room.

The worst part is at home, though. It was months ago but Kitayama can still envision it clear as day, completely against his will. After so long of fighting it, he finally admits to himself that yes, it’s hot, and that’s what bothers him the most, because it’s _Fujigaya_ and Kitayama is not in the same camp as basically every female on the planet.

Living alone means that he’s the only one to witness his shame, and after so long of ignoring it, it’s easy to step into his own shower and let the images flow freely. It’s cleansing, almost, his apprehensions carried down the drain by the water as he reaches down to touch himself. He’s already half hard, which isn’t surprising; he hasn’t been able to get off without thinking of Fujigaya doing the same thing, which has led to some uncomfortable mornings in which he had felt like a teenager again.

“Oh god,” Kitayama gasps into the water, letting it hit his face much like Fujigaya had done. He wonders if the other man’s reasoning was also to distract himself from whatever he was thinking about. What would Fujigaya even fantasize about? Probably porn stars with large breasts, Kitayama thinks with a grimace.

He feels like drowning himself when he realizes that he’s _jealous_. No, no, _no_ , he does not want to hook up with that guy, absolutely no way. Replaying this reoccurring scene in his head is far enough. In his mind, though, Fujigaya turns to stare at him while he does it, gaze burning as he offers a tiny smirk and squeezes himself harder. Then he bites his lip and starts to rock back and forth, his eyes falling shut as he pushes into his own hand, and his head falls back as he groans out Kitayama’s first name in that deep voice of his.

Kitayama nearly falls over from the force of his orgasm, crashing against the tile wall to hold himself up. This is ridiculous. He certainly doesn’t feel any better now that he’s given into his urges; in fact, he feels worse. Suddenly he peeks around his shower curtain, half expecting Fujigaya to be on the other side because fate is a bitch like that, but there’s nothing but a steamed up mirror.

Kitayama drops his wet head into his hands, because he’s actually _disappointed_.

*

They expect it by now, the pair of them already standing next to each other before the cameras are even rolling, though the photographers usually make them get closer. It’s never bothered Kitayama nearly as much as it bothers Fujigaya—just part of the job—and besides, he’s fairly certain that most of Fujigaya’s resentment stems from the way everyone takes sadistic glee out of riling him up more than the fact that it’s Kitayama.

“I’ve decided,” Fujigaya says quietly while they pose with a stuffed snake wrapped around both of their necks for the New Year edition. “On your punishment.”

“Is now really the place to discuss this?” Kitayama hisses back, willing the blush back from creeping onto his face. They don’t need to give anyone anymore ammunition to think something is going on between them, even if it’s basically true now.

“Don’t make any plans tonight,” is all Fujigaya says, and it’s the first shoot in years where he’s smirking with his arm around Kitayama’s shoulders.

Yokoo lifts his eyebrows at Kitayama when they finish, but Kitayama ignores him and goes straight home. He has no idea what to expect. It can’t be anything too humiliating since it’s just Fujigaya. After everything they’ve done on television together, there isn’t much that could make Kitayama uncomfortable around him.

He’s still nervous, mostly because he’s going to be _alone_ with him. It’s certainly not the first time, but it’s the first time since the shower incident. Kitayama’s not sure he can stand looking at him with those images flashing in his head, at least without doing something that really would be embarrassing.

Later that night, Fujigaya barges right through the front door like he lives there, and Kitayama eyeballs him from where he’s sitting on his couch, watching TV. Fujigaya’s about as underdressed as he gets, his hair pulled back as he drowns in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. Seeing his forehead reminds Kitayama of how he’d thrown his head back in the shower and Kitayama suddenly finds the remote control quite interesting.

“Don’t even bother lecturing me on manners,” Fujigaya greets him, flopping down next to him on the couch. He’s as far as he can get considering Kitayama’s sitting in the middle, but it’s still way too close.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Kitayama says dryly. “Let’s get this over with. I’m tired.”

“You’ll wake up real quick once you see what I have in store for you,” Fujigaya says, his voice so malicious that Kitayama can’t help but glance over at him.

He’s holding up a DVD with two slutty girls on the cover, and Kitayama feels his jaw drop. “You’re not serious.”

“I am so serious,” Fujigaya says, getting that devious look in his eye like he had when they were younger and he did stupid shit like streak through the hotel hallway. “I couldn’t think of anything nearly as embarrassing as what you did to me, so I’ll just do the same thing.”

“You didn’t know I was there!” Kitayama exclaims. “That’s a little different than being _right next to you_.”

Fujigaya shrugs. “You knew I was there, though, which makes it a hundred times worse.”

Kitayama covers his face in his hand as he considers his options. He could refuse and kick Fujigaya out of his apartment, but that may make him look even more suspicious. Kitayama is the least modest person ever, at least until this happened. If it were anyone else, he’d go all out just to make them regret making him do it in the first place.

“Fine,” he grits through his teeth, snatching the DVD and getting up to put it on. “Enjoy the show, pervert.”

Looking smug, Fujigaya curls up with himself on the couch and turns a bit to rest his head on the back cushion. Kitayama tries to keep his face from burning under the other man’s stare, which he is intent on _not_ paying attention to as he stares at his TV so hard his eyes start to hurt from the strain.

Five seconds into it, Kitayama can tell that this isn’t his kind of AV movie. It’s not that he doesn’t like girls, even ridiculously slutty ones with fake breasts; he just doesn’t care for over-the-top lesbianism for the sake of turning guys on. It reminds him too much of fanservice, which just makes him think about work.

The last thing he wants to do is explain this to Fujigaya, though, so he just unfastens his pants and tries to get into it. It’s surprisingly easy to ignore the fact that he’s not alone, particularly since it’s that fact that has him pushing up against his hand before his zipper is even down. He pretends to watch the movie as he pulls out his cock, stroking himself to full hardness and arching as that first jolt of pleasure courses through him.

He doesn’t hold back, moaning when it feels good and replacing the gratuitous pool scene on the TV with the even more gratuitous shower scene in his head. Fujigaya tossing his head back, squeezing his length just like Kitayama’s doing to himself now, the water cascading down his face and chest. It’s hotter with Fujigaya _right there_ , completely oblivious to the content of his fantasies.

“You’re not even watching the movie,” Fujigaya says curiously.

“Don’t talk to me,” Kitayama hisses out, ignoring the way his body responds to Fujigaya’s deep voice.

Naturally Fujigaya doesn’t listen. “What are you thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Kitayama mutters, followed by a gasp as he thumbs the head of his cock.

Then his wrist is pulled away by strong fingers, halting his actions, and Fujigaya’s next words are whispered in his ear. “I already do.”

“Fujigaya—”

“You are so obvious,” Fujigaya cuts him off, and Kitayama arches uncontrollably, whining at the loss of friction. “As fun as it’s been to watch you get all fucked up about it for the past couple months, enough is enough, don’t you think?”

Kitayama pops his eyes open, struggling to focus on the girls sloppily eating each other out to calm down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Then Fujigaya’s in his face, licking his lips as he straddles Kitayama’s thighs, and Kitayama doesn’t have to imagine anything anymore. “Say it and I’ll let you finish.”

“Say _what_.”

“What you’re thinking about.”

Kitayama looks at him, really _looks_ at him for the first time since before he’d walked in on him in the shower, and relents at the indescribable expression on Fujigaya’s face. His words are spiteful, but his eyes are soft and Kitayama’s no longer convinced that this is purely for his torture.

“I was thinking about you,” Kitayama whispers, and Fujigaya’s breath hitches. “In the shower, touching yourself, your head tossed back while the water runs all over you. I can’t fucking get it out of my head and it’s driving me crazy.”

The last thing he expects is for Fujigaya to smile. “Don’t you feel better now?”

“No, actually, I don’t.” Kitayama glares, lifting his other hand to pick up where he’d left off. Fujigaya snatches it and pins them both to the back of the couch. “The fuck, Fujigaya, you said I could finish if I said it.”

“You can either finish here,” Fujigaya says, the smirk returning to his lips, “or you can repeat history.”

Kitayama’s eyes widen as Fujigaya hops to his feet and casually strolls down the hallway. It feels like his heart is beating in his throat as he hears the telltale signs of the shower starting and the images attack him from all angles. Now he has Fujigaya’s voice to add to it, the promise of seeing it all over again in the flesh, and he’s on his feet before he can remember that this is the reason he’s been so miserable.

This time he’s not stopping at just watching, though. He’s pulling his shirt over his head before he’s even halfway down the hallway and dropping his pants as he walks through the bathroom door, nearly tripping over them as he unceremoniously falls into the shower and almost pulls the curtain down around them both.

Fujigaya spins around, looking shocked as the water hits him from the back now. “I didn’t say come in here _with_ me, you freak.”

“It’s my shower,” Kitayama replies, because that’s logical, and he shoves Fujigaya further under the spray so he can get some water too. Fujigaya’s staring at him incredulously, like he can’t decide whether to kiss him or kick his ass, and Kitayama saves him the trouble.

Fujigaya’s lips are just as plush as they look, and Fujigaya grabs onto Kitayama’s arms for a long second of contemplation before bowing out of the kiss. “Don’t kiss me.”

“Why not?” Kitayama asks breathlessly. His chest is heaving and Fujigaya still has a grip on his arms, making no effort to push him away. “This is all your fault.”

“I know, but.” Fujigaya sighs. “No kissing, okay? Anything else is fine.”

Kitayama frowns in confusion, but then Fujigaya’s hands are dropping to his waist and his attention relocates. He presses his mouth to Fujigaya’s neck instead, continuing up his throat when Fujigaya leans his head back. Kitayama feels the moan against his lips before he hears it, and his hands roam all over Fujigaya’s wet back as he’s pulled close enough to press his erection against Fujigaya’s thigh.

“Jesus,” Fujigaya swears, grip tightening as he rolls his hips forward. Kitayama feels Fujigaya hard against his stomach and gasps.

Kitayama drags his lips to the other side of Fujigaya’s neck and sucks lightly along a particularly sensitive spot that has Fujigaya rocking toward him again. “You know, you can’t really be picky about who you kiss after being tongued by a giraffe.”

“If you want this to go anywhere, you’ll never mention that again,” Fujigaya replies, and Kitayama chuckles until he’s thrown up against the cold tile wall. The next second has Fujigaya hoisting him up, his legs wrapping naturally around Fujigaya’s waist as Fujigaya holds him up by the ass. “I could fuck you right here,” he hisses into Kitayama’s ear.

Kitayama’s body rolls at the suggestion, but he’s ornery enough to keep teasing him. “I’ll let you if you kiss me.”

The resulting groan of frustration has Kitayama tightening his legs around Fujigaya’s waist and pulling him closer, moaning when his cock bumps against Fujigaya’s. Fujigaya flattens him against the wall in an effort for more friction, balancing the extra weight with one hand while the other shoves between their wet chests to wrap around them both. “Or we can do this.”

Kitayama’s eyes roll back into his head as he starts to bounce a little from Fujigaya’s efforts. There are no images in his mind this time, just reality where that wet skin is under his fingers and Fujigaya’s face is pressed into his neck. Each low noise from the younger man has Kitayama arching, trying to thrust for more, and finally he brings down one of his hands to squeeze them harder and Fujigaya’s groans vibrate his entire body.

“Fuck,” Fujigaya gasps, pressing his forehead against Kitayama’s shoulder as everything moves so much faster. “I’m close.”

“I’m there,” Kitayama gets out, nearly smacking his head against the tile as he leans his head back and comes over their hands with a sharp cry.

“Oh my god, Hiromitsu,” Fujigaya says, his body jerking as he follows. Instantly his knees give out, sending them both sliding down to the bathtub, where Kitayama slumps against Fujigaya’s chest because he has absolutely no energy left.

The water is now hitting him in the face, but he doesn’t care. His orgasm had been so intense that he’s still trembling, his nerves singeing as he does well to keep breathing and open his eyes.

Fujigaya is staring at him, his own chest heaving with breaths so deep that he has to swallow a few of them. “Feel better now?” he asks.

“No,” Kitayama answers, then grabs the back of Fujigaya’s head to press their mouths together. Fujigaya doesn’t even fight him, just parts his lips for Kitayama’s tongue and wraps his arms around Kitayama’s neck to hold him closer. He ends up falling onto his back, Kitayama settling on top of him as they stretch out underneath the streams of warm water and kiss until it runs cold.

They reluctantly get out of the shower and dry off, Fujigaya wrapping his towel up high again, and Kitayama laughs at him.

“What are you laughing at, shorty?” Fujigaya asks. “You have to let me fuck you now. We made a deal.”

“Let me catch my breath first,” Kitayama says.

“Oh, not right now.” Fujigaya’s grin is even more wicked with his wet hair slicked back and his face flushed. “When you least expect it.”

Kitayama rolls his eyes and opens the door to retreat to his room for some clean clothes, leaving Fujigaya finger-spelling English swear words into the steam on his mirror.

“What the fuck, Hiromitsu, do you just keep porn on all day?” Yokoo’s voice calls from the front room, and Kitayama freezes. “You don’t even like this kind.”

Yokoo reaches the hallway at the same time Fujigaya steps out behind Kitayama, shoving him forward with a swat to the towel-covered ass. “What the fuck.”

“Hey, Wataru,” Fujigaya says casually, like there’s nothing wrong with this situation.

“That’s it!” Yokoo exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m joining KAT-TUN.”

“There’s no Y in KAT-TUN,” Fujigaya tells him, looking confused, but Yokoo has already turned on his heel and stomped out the door. “What’s with him?”

“Seventh wheel,” Kitayama mutters, and Fujigaya ‘ah’s knowingly.

While Fujigaya roots through Kitayama’s closet for something that won’t come up to his knees, Kitayama walks out to his kitchen and notices a bag on the counter. Inside it is a can of Scrubbing Bubbles.

“You better leave my bathroom _spotless_ ,” he says to the can, laughing endlessly.


End file.
